Page 32 of One More Chance

Harper

These old ladiesfrom Nan and Paw’s church are insane. Like certifiably. And they drink more than most men I know. They don’t want to sip on wine, either. Oh, no. They want the hard stuff.

Annette, the organ player, comes up to get her third red cup of peach moonshine and cocks me a sideways smile. “You’re so young and pretty. Why aren’t you out getting into trouble?” she slurs.

“Who would serve you your moonshine, then?” I laugh.

Annette hiccups. “Good point.” She turns back, laughing, and then carries on with the others.

At least they all brought presents. Lyla and I don’t know half these people. They’re here by extension. A courtesy. It’s the way of the South. I don’t understand it; I just live it.

I watch Lyla as she parts the crowd, nodding and smiling and trading small talk with each woman here. She looks dreadfully uncomfortable as she attempts to make her way over to me. She presses through the last few people and exhales.

“Why don’t I remember it being like this with your wedding?” she asks.

“Because you spent the entire time half-drunk, asking me if I wanted to run away, and the other half making out with Charles’s best man Toby,” I remind her, laughing.

“Oh god, I forgot about Toby,” she says. “He wasn’t even good at kissing.”

I clear my throat. The mention of kissing sends me into a panic, as if the mere mention of it means she knows. “Speaking of kissing…”

“Kissing? What about it?” she asks.

“Nothing. Well, something.” I shift my weight from one foot to the other and back again and before I realize it, I’m wringing my hands.

“What?”

“I kissed Jensen. Actually, he kissed me. We kissed.” I breathe out as fast as I can.

“Oh my god, when?” she says, her voice rising.

“Shh,” I say. “Last night.”

“And then what?”

“Nothing. We went to sleep.”

“Wait, what?” she asks, clearly confused.

“I told him I only ever kissed Charles so we kissed and then we went to sleep.” I can tell she’s as confused about it as I am.

“Well, did you like it?”

I drift off for a second, recalling his lips pressed against mine, the way his tongue flicked and lapped against mine. If I think hard enough, I can still feel the pressure of his hands against my back and warmth spreads all the way down to my—

“Well?” she asks.

“Yes,” I admit, the skin across my chest warm.

“And him?”

“I think he did.” I shrug. “I didn’t exactly ask him.”

Lyla crosses her arms across her chest, eyeing me. “You like him, don’t you?”

“What? No. Don’t be absurd. We’re just friends. He’s being nice, helping me figure out how to even talk to guys, flirt. You forget, Lyla, that I don’t know shit about shit.”

“And now you’re kissing.” She narrows her eyes.

---